by Tim Symonds
Self-consciously I glanced across at my companion. I had expected to see him hiding a growing impatience under this inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he was listening with the greatest concentration of attention.
‘In the possibility your marriage to an Englishman has a bearing on your husband’s disappearance, could you spare the time to tell my friend and me how such a marriage took place?’ Holmes requested.
‘To do so I need to go back some years, to when my father was alive,’ Mrs. Barrington replied. With a concerned look she added, ‘It is a story of some complexity. I - I do not know if you - ?’
‘Our time is entirely at your disposal,’ Holmes smiled reassuringly.
She began, ‘Our estates are so extensive it is said that one farm cannot see the chimney-smoke of another. My father owned more than a hundred thousand hectares of fertile lands and woods here in Bulgaria, and additional lands and villages in France, and Hungary, and elsewhere, I am told, much of which I have not seen.’ She paused. ‘And the story concerns a certain relative of mine. I believe you have met him.’
‘And who might that be?’ Holmes enquired.
‘He is one of the Prince’s chiefest lights, the War Minister.’
‘Colonel Kalchoff!’ I exclaimed, vividly recalling Mycroft’s cautionary words.
‘Yes. My family name is also Kalchoff. Konstantin is my cousin. He exerts himself at every turn to thwart my duties towards my estates.’
‘In what way do your family estates concern your cousin, may we ask?’ Holmes said.
‘His father and my father were brothers. Konstantin’s was the elder of the two. He predeceased my father by some years. If Konstantin had not been illegitimate he would have inherited all the Kalchoff lands. His desire to regain them quickly grew into an obsession. You may imagine my father’s relief when Konstantin left Sofia for Vienna to join the Austro-Hungarian Army. That was where he became excellent friends with a certain fellow Lieutenant.’
‘Would that be Prince Ferdinand?’ I enquired.
She nodded. ‘Some time passed peacefully, then, out of the blue, the previous Knyaz of Bulgaria was kidnapped and taken into exile by agents of the Russian Tsar. You can imagine our surprise when we heard Konstantin had successfully put Ferdinand’s name forward for election by the Grand Sobranje. My cousin returned in triumph to Sofia alongside the new Prince Regnant.’
‘And the matter of marrying an Englishman is in some way connected to this?’ I prompted.
‘My father was very friendly with the British Legate. Sir Penderel assured us that just as Ferdinand’s rule is the more safeguarded from outside intervention because he is a cousin of your Queen Victoria, so our family lands could be safeguarded from Konstantin - that is, my father and Sir Penderel were both convinced only through - ’ Her voice faltered. ‘My father was certain that my cousin could now wage a vendetta as powerful as that of any Macedonian to regain the lands which he felt were his birthright, unless - ’
‘Unless you married an Englishman?’ I interjected.
She nodded. ‘My mother died many years ago. Papa realised he would never have a son to inherit the family lands. He became impatient. “My daughter, as a woman you are very vulnerable,” he told me. “You must go to England. The matter of your marriage is the greatest concern of my last days on Earth. If you are not married to an Englishman by the day I die your cousin will steal our lands from you. Do not believe the Prince Regnant will safeguard you, rather he will aid and abet Konstantin”.’
Mrs. Barrington’s delicate white hand pointed over her shoulder at a copy of Kelly’s Handbook to the Titled, Landed and Official Classes standing alone on a tiny shelf.
‘Evening after evening I would watch my father turning the pages of the gazette you see behind me. He marked out the names of potential suitors. By then it was becoming clear he was gravely ill.’
‘And we must assume Captain Barrington was among the names,’ Holmes remarked. ‘Watson and I would find it of the utmost interest to know how you went about it.’
‘Again I have the British Legate to thank,’ Mrs. Barrington continued. ‘The English hunting season was under way. Sir Penderel told us there was no quicker way for ambitious young Military officers like Captain Barrington to achieve social ascendancy, even presentation at the British Court, than cutting a good figure at a famous Hunt. He said such men move heaven and earth to get to Mr. Fernie’s Billesdon Hunt at Market Harborough, its coverts venerated as the finest hunting in the world. Sir Penderel assured us that a personal invitation from Mr. Fernie, the Master of the Hunt, would soon follow if I wished to attend.’
After a reflective pause she resumed, ‘My father’s mind was made up. I was to leave for England as soon as I could be furnished with a suitable wardrobe.’
Our hostess laughed for the first time. ‘As you may already have noticed, there is no fashion in Sofia except those we emulate from the fine people of Paris, Pesth or Vienna. I studied the fashions in the latest La Mode Illustrée from Paris and Ladies Realm from London. Then I took my choices to the Sultana’s dressmaker in Stamboul.’
‘And now you were ready for England and Market Harborough,’ Holmes broke in, steering her back on track.
‘‘Sir Penderel took up my family’s endeavour with the greatest seriousness. He arranged for me to stay at the Ritz where a Mrs. Wheatley, a widow and distant cousin of his, would meet me each day to act as chaperone so I had a woman’s countenance on my visit. I needed to spend some days in London to get fitted for a Busvine riding habit if I were to appear at the Hunt. Many times I determined to catch the next train home to Sofia but I knew I had to honour the last request my dearest Papa would ever make. My only escape was in the evenings. My chaperone and her brother, Mr. Penderel, escorted me to your wonderful theatres and concert-halls. They transported me away from all my cares.’ She smiled. ‘However, when I wanted to visit a music hall as I had heard much of them, Mr. Penderel refused me my request outright.’
I asked, guessing at the probable reply, ‘And what was his reasoning behind this refusal?’
‘He told me it was infra dig for a woman of my - ’ Again she blushed, ‘ - class, even a foreigner!’
Holmes asked, ‘Was there any particular Hall you wished to attend?’
‘Why should you want to know that, Mr. Holmes?’ our hostess cried, astonished.
My friend could not restrain a chuckle at her confusion. ‘I am always glad of details,’ he remarked, ‘whether they seem to be relevant or not.’ He waved a hand in my direction. ‘You have a fellow enthusiast in my friend Dr. Watson. He does the rounds of all the music halls.’
‘The Tivoli,’ came her answer.
‘And this was when precisely?’ Holmes asked.
‘Why, it must now be two years ago.’
‘Early April?’
‘Yes.’
Holmes nodded. ‘Please continue.’
‘To make myself - ’ again she blushed in a most attractive way, ‘ - visible against all the competition, I was told to bind my hair up to show the nape of the neck, the veil should press on my face, liquid red on the lips. I exchanged the tall hat for an exotic turban tied tightly to avoid snagging on a passing branch if the pace got hectic. When my outfit was complete I hired a trap and set off for a hunting box on the Bowden Road with Mr. Penderel, himself an accomplished rider to hounds. They introduced me to Mr. Fernie. And thus the Season began for me.’
‘And that’s where you met and married Captain Barrington?’ I summed up.
She inclined her head.
‘If I may put this as delicately as possible, has a search been made in police stations and morgues for a body resembling his?’
It was I who asked this question.
Again she inclined her head. ‘All yesterday,’ she replied. A small tear ran dow
n her face. We rose to our feet.
‘One last thing,’ I said. ‘Barrington is not an unusual name. There are to my knowledge half a dozen Captain Barringtons in England. In which regiment did he serve?’
‘The Connaught Rangers.’
With only the greatest difficulty I prevented my jaw from dropping. I stared at her sorrowing face.
‘The Connaught Rangers!’ I exclaimed. ‘But - ’
Holmes’s arm jerked sharply across my face. ‘Watson, I think we have enquired enough for the moment. For our hostess’s sake we must hasten this interview to an end.’
He turned to her with a slight bow. ‘Madam, I assure you we shall do our very best to discover the whereabouts of your husband.’
She rose from her chair with a little of the anxiety seeping from her face. My companion continued, ‘We shall take the wedding photograph with us, as you suggest. There is just one small favour I must ask of you.’
‘A favour? Whatever you wish.’
‘My good friend here made a small wager during our journey to your shores. I swore the Great British statesman William Ewart Gladstone was born in 1810. Watson had the temerity to insist it was 1809. I wonder if I may look quickly in your Kelly’s Handbook to settle which of us owes the other five guineas?’
Our hostess handed him the Kelly’s. Shaking his head ruefully he looked across and me and said, ‘Watson, you lucky devil. You are right. He was born in 1809.’
We moved towards the door. As we reached it, our hostess said, ‘My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you.’
Holmes turned once more as though to bow us out. Instead he asked, ‘Mrs. Barrington, in the unavoidable absence of your father, who performed his role at the wedding?’
‘Luckily, even at such short notice, an officer in the 3rd battalion of the Coldstream Guards offered to give me away.’
‘His name?’
‘Lieutenant-Colonel James Grant.’
***
We waited outside the villa while a servant went to summon our vehicle. I seized my comrade by the arm. In an urgent whisper I said, ‘Holmes, what in heaven’s name is going on? The man she says she married - Captain Barrington of the Connaught Rangers - died in a hunting accident nearly four years ago. As to the man chosen to stand in her father’s place, it was announced in the Military Gazette that James Grant of the Coldstream Guards was the first British officer to die at the Battle of Kraaipand.’
Holmes looked grim. ‘I think we can say she underwent a rather unusual ceremony. There cannot be that many weddings - even among Bulgarians - where a bride is given away to a dead man - by a dead man.’
His brow furrowed. He went on, ‘A great deal of thread is piling up but I can’t get the end of it into my hand. Tell me, we were offered cigarettes but why nothing from the tantalus containing brandy and whisky?’
‘Holmes,’ I replied, ‘you are mistaken. Our hostess could not have offered us brandy or whisky from a tantalus. There was no such decanter present.’
‘What of gins, vermouths and kirsches in crystal ewers?’
Again I shook my head. ‘I saw only liquorice and almond emulsion. And what looked like the crimson of grenadine and garnett bitters.’
‘No long-necked carafes of the mysterious and sinful drinks beloved of the Officers’ Mess? Judging by the stains on your Mess Dress jacket, Army captains tend to the riotous.’
‘My dear Holmes,’ I retorted hotly, ‘I purchased that Mess Dress from the estate of the great explorer Arthur Conolly of the 1st Bengal Light Cavalry. Those stains you refer to so disparagingly are from the finest champagne!’
‘You make my point, Watson. But please answer my question, you saw no Devil’s brew of any sort?’
‘A milky Advokaats, nothing more. What are you making of this, Holmes?’ I pursued.
‘Just as the presence of a kennel presupposes that of a dog, so the presence of a tantalus would indicate a steady supply of Regimental comrades, and by contrast its lack would - ’
He looked at me pensively. What did you make of her interest in the music hall?’
‘What of it?’ I asked, surprised. ‘She isn’t English. She might not know the Hall is nowhere for a lady to go - .’
‘I find it hard to believe that she would be so interested. Such sheet music as could make it to Sofia would hardly have entranced her - ribaldry about drink, debt, adversity, lodgers, overdue rent and bailiffs, mothers-in-law, hen-pecked husbands, unfaithful wives.’
The carriage drew up. As I clambered in, I asked, ‘What was all this nonsense about a bet on Gladstone’s date of birth?’
‘A ruse to get my hands on the Kelly’s Handbook. I wanted to know which edition her father consulted.’
‘Which was?’
‘It was published in 1895.’
‘Ah! Therefore - ’
‘ - by consulting the 1895 edition she and her father would reasonably have expected Barrington to be alive.’
‘So too the man she says gave her away.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then how do you explain her marriage?’
‘Perhaps she married a charlatan. Heaven knows the fast set also turns out in numbers at Market Harborough - a hundred predatory males and females on the make.’
‘Why, Holmes,’ I exclaimed, outraged, ‘the utter cad!’ I shook my head angrily.
‘I am beginning to think that if something unpleasant has happened to this fellow, he deserves it. I suggest we return immediately to Mrs. Barrington and reveal his damnable trickery to her. What do you say?’
Holmes shook his head.
‘Patience, Watson, is what I say. One hardly likes to throw suspicion where there are no proofs. This promises to be one of the more curious cases in our long career together. It certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I see some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out. When I compared Captain Barrington’s face in the wedding photograph with Captain Barrington’s face in the Sargent painting I noted something singular. The facts are, to the best of my belief, even more unusual than the matter you described in your overblown way in The Red-Headed League.’
Chapter XV
IN WHICH A BODY IS DISCOVERED
OUTSIDE the Barringtons’ villa, Holmes was about to step into our conveyance when matters took a further unexpected twist. Footfalls of someone in a great hurry came to our ears. The sound was accompanied by loud sobs. A woman was rushing towards the villa entrance. Without hesitation I leapt down from the carriage and fell in with Holmes at a jog behind her.
As she entered the villa she cried out, ‘Madam, Madam - a body has been found!’
Mrs. Barrington hurried from the sitting-room in alarm.
‘A body!’ she repeated. ‘Gentlemen,’ she added, catching sight of us, ‘this is my housekeeper. We have taught her English for my husband’s sake.’
‘A body, Madam,’ the housekeeper confirmed.
‘Found where?’ Mrs. Barrington demanded.
‘In the Mount Vitosh forest. Near an obrok.’
For several seconds Mrs. Barrington stared in silence at the bearer of the terrible news.
‘Has it been identified?’ she asked finally. ‘Is it - my husband?’
‘No, Madam, it cannot be Captain Barrington.’
‘Why so?’
‘It is not a man - ’
‘Then a boy?’
‘Not a man nor a boy.’
The three of us stared, waiting while the housekeeper drew in another agonised breath.
The woman continued, ‘She has been stripped of all her clothing!’
Our hostess gasped. ‘She?’
‘Yes, Madam. It is the body of a wom
an, a young woman hardly older than yourself! How she came there or how she met her fate are questions which are still involved in mystery. And the most terrible thing of all - ’
The housekeeper gulped for breath. She brought her hands up to her ears with a shiver of horror as though to shut out the words she was about to utter.
‘What terrible thing?’ Mrs. Barrington demanded, her hands also beginning to rise. ‘Tell me quickly!’
‘The charcoal burners say that unlucky birds have been seen flocking to that part of the forest. They say the killing is the work of a vampire recently arrived. The old women have sent for the relics of Saint Ivan Rilski to exorcise the evil creature which did this dreadful thing.’
‘Why should they think it was a vampire?’ our hostess cried out, a quiver in her voice.
The housekeeper crooked her middle- and fore-finger and darted them at her throat.
‘Her body was completely drained of blood.’
The voice portrayed the housekeeper’s mind-shattering terror. She managed to gasp, ‘They say her eyes still glow with a baleful light. And - ’
‘And what? Tell us at once!’ our hostess demanded.
‘The vampire cut off all her hair,’ the woman replied hoarsely. ‘The woman was shorn just like a sheep.’
Our hostess turned white to her very lips. She stood petrified for a moment. Before I could take three short paces to her side she fell to the floor in a deep faint.
Chapter XVI
THE VICTIM OF A VAMPIRE?
WITH the application of volatile salts Mrs. Barrington opened her eyes. She looked up at me beseechingly.
‘Dr. Watson, you are a medical man. You must go at once with my housekeeper to Mount Vitosh. You can make enquiry of the villagers. Perhaps the woman is not quite dead. As to the peasants, for some weeks they have been insisting a voracious vampire has recently been driven into the forests of Mount Vitosh from the region of Istria, but a prudent incredulity is very requisite.’
‘Madam, may I ask what is an obrok?’ I enquired.
